The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Late one night about two weeks later, my doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. It was Sam. I spoke to her through the door.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Please let me in, Sir?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, Sam. I said you could come to my house, I didn’t say you could come in. Did I?”

I could hear her sob from the other side of the door. “Please ... please... Master. Please let me be near you. Please?”

“Sam, there’s a shed in the back. A tool shed. There’s an old army blanket and a sleeping bag in there. Go sleep in the shed.”

A long pause.

“Yes Sir. Um, thank you.” The soft padding of feet followed by the chirp of my alarm sensor as the side gate was opened.

The next morning she was on my back porch, lightly knocking. “May I come in now, Sir?”

“Nope.” I smiled at her through the sliding glass door. She looked like she’d had a bad night, her hair was rumpled and her clothes were wrinkled. I noticed an overnight bag propped against the shed. I had an idea.

“Sam?” I grinned.

She smiled at me hopefully. “Yes, Sir?”

“That grass looks overgrown, doesn’t it?”

She looked around in a bit of confusion. “I suppose so, Mr. Tawse. Why?”

“I think it needs cutting.” I waited for it to sink in.

The $350 an hour lesbian lawyer on my back porch in her wrinkled Chanel suit paused and thought. After a moment, she looked up at me hopefully. “Should I get someone to cut it for you?”

“Nope.”

She hung her head and looked down at her expensive italian shoes. “Sir. Sir. Would you like me to cut your grass sir?”

I smiled a winning smile at her. “No need to use the power mower, Sam. Use the push mower. Its safer for you. The push mower is in the garage. You may have to move some junk to get to it.”

She seemed defeated and started to walk towards the garage. I stopped her.

“Sam. Stop.”

She turned and looked at me.

“You have a lovely body Samantha, and it’s a beautiful day out. A beautiful summer day. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She looked up, and tried to smile. “Yes, and hot, Sir”

“It is hot. That’s true. You’d overheat in that suit, not even to mention that you’d ruin it if you cut grass in it. That will never do.”

She nodded, silent.

“I think you should go down to the mall. I’ll give you a map. You should buy a bikini. A tiny bikini. Tiny. Bring it back. Put it on in the backyard and cut my grass. You’ll get a good tan. Or at least some sun. Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

Her eyes were wide, shocked. “Cut your back lawn in a bikini, Sir?”

“Nope.”

“No, Sir?”

“No, Sam... not my back yard, BOTH yards. Front and back. And the driveway strip. And weed the flower beds. Today.”

“But... but Sir!” She looked trapped and a bit panic stricken.

“Well, no. Never mind. Might as well go home, eh?” I looked at her, obviously pretending to be distraught at the notion of her leaving. I turned away from the glass doors and went down to my den. I decided to spend some time surfing the web.

“SIR!!” I heard distantly as I went.

Later, in the afternoon, I went up from the den to the kitchen to get myself another drink. Looking out the window, I saw a lovely sight.

There, on my side yard, struggling to push my hand mower was Samantha Wilcuff. She was glorious. Her pale flesh was covered in a sheen of dirty sweat as she pushed the mower. Her amazing C or maybe even D cup breasts strained against the tight confines of a bright red bikini. Her flat stomach was clenched as she pushed the mower, and her truly fine ass was on prominent display from behind, shown off by the red bikini bottom. And it really was a small bikini. She wore tennis shoes on her feet, work gloves on her hands, and her beautiful blond hair was held up in a braid.

Around her were probably ten teenage boys on their bikes. A couple were trying to help her out, offering to empty the grass bin as it filled. She refused their aid. Across the street and down the court, a couple of fathers and older brothers had decided all at once to watch the afternoon game out doors, or to clean their truck, or to wash out the garage or any other activity that could plausibly keep them occupied with a line of sight to Sam.

I watched for a while. Before too long, a police cruiser rolled up. Two middle aged white cops got out.

I went down to greet them, but not before I ran a thin coat of clear liquid latex over my right palm and the added the tiniest dosage to it.

The cops were engaged in earnest conversation with Sam by the time I arrived. The teen boy squad had not dispersed, but they had backed up a ways and tried to look as inconspicuous as a gang of leering adolescents can.

“Afternoon officers, I’m William Tawse, I own this house. Is there a problem?” I stuck out my hand.

The large of the two looked at me. “You know this woman? She says she is just here to cut your grass. Actually,” He took my hand and shook it. I offered it to the other officer. “I’m not sure she’s breaking any laws, but...”

The smaller cop took my hand, we shook. He smiled at me. “But she is creating a public nuisance.” He looked around at the gawkers.

I nodded. I thought for a moment. I looked over at Sam. She was flushed red with shame and embarrassment, looking down at the ground. She seemed utterly humiliated. How long had gone by?

“There’s nothing to be done here. There’s no problem here. Some busybody called in, nothing’s wrong. She’s not a nuisance. I’m harmless. Nothing’s wrong.”

They looked at each other. One sighed, the other hitched up his belt and looked at the kids. He walked over to them. The one left here with us looked at me and said. “Hell buddy, I don’t know what the problem is here. You just go back to your business. I’ll handle that neighbor woman for you.” He stole a last look at Sam.

I turned to her and smiled. “Well, get back to work, daylight’s burning and you’d hate to be out here working in the dark.” I walked back inside.

She looked around bewildered by the turn of events and then began to mow the lawn again. I waved a big thumbs up at the kids and went inside to finish that drink.

Summer nights run late. By about nine that evening, dusk was settling in. Sam was down on her hands and knees, her really amazing ass poking out of the shrubs as she tried to weed in the near dark. I noticed that the neighborhood men had gotten a lot of yard work and truck cleaning done that day. I nodded in satisfaction.

I brought her a large pitcher of ice tea and a glass. “Here you go, Sam... come on out.”

She crawled out of the bushes on her hands and knees. She was red from sunburn, there were grass streaks on her face and hands and knees. She looked utterly beautiful to me. I gulped slowly to hide my reaction.

She took the glass with a shaking hand. “Thank you so much, ... um.. Master.” She downed it quickly. She sat down on her heels. My eyes traced a line of sweat up her dirty thigh to the filthy bikini.

“You’re filthy.”

She looked herself over. “Yes, I suppose I am, Sir. I’m sorry. But, I did get all the lawn done and this is the last flower bed. I’m almost done. Please give me fifteen more minutes? I promise I can get it done tonight Sir.”

“Nope.”

“No, Sir?”

“Nope, you’re dirty, it’s getting late, and you have work to do in the morning. We need to get you ready for sleep.”

She looked up at me with a huge expectant smile.

I got up and she followed me. We walked into the back yard. I led her to the center of my patio. “Strip!”

She looked at me like I was speaking Martian. “SIR??”

“Last chance before I become upset, Sam. Strip. Naked. Now.”

She turned her back to me, which was fine with me, because it presented me with her really fine ass. She removed the filthy bikini top and covered her chest with her hands. She then turned sideways and removed her bottoms, letting it fall to the paving of the patio. She covered her pubes with her other hand.

I walked over to the side of the patio and hit the flood lights. The patio was suddenly brilliantly illuminated in a white glare. She stood there, trying to hide her nakedness. I came back with the hose.

“You’re filthy. Hands up.”

“SIRRR???”

“Hands up, time for your bath.” I began to spray her with the cold water from the hose.

“God, STOP STOP THIS!” She yelled.

I lowered the hose. “What, Sam?”

“Please STOP! I just want to be with you, please don’t treat me this way. Please, Sir. Please don’t be so mean to me.” She started to sob softly, her hands covering herself.

At that moment, I almost gave in. I almost let her off. Just then though, the clock chimed nine-fifteen from my study. That clock was a gift from Alan. From my humiliated, embarrassed and now divorced friend Alan. Alan, whose wife now thought he cheated on her with whores. Alan, whose life work in a company was gone and would have been forgotten without my intervention.

“No Sam. No.” I was angry again, and it made me strong. “Either you, right now, put your hands up and act like you’re willing to make me happy, or I send you away. If I send you away this time, I’ll never let you back... and it’ll eat at you like acid. It will eat at you.” I snarled at her. “Now decide.”

“I’m sorry Master.” She said, and slowly put her hands up on top of her head. I looked her over, the naked and glorious Samantha. Her breasts were lovely, high and proud on her chest. Her nipples were small and rosy. Her flat tummy led down from a delicate dark happy trail to a neatly trimmed black curl of pubes shaped in a triangle. Her pussy lips peaked out from her mound, playing hide and go seek in the light of the patio.

I sprayed her down with the hose. Then I handed her a scrub brush and a bar of soap. She washed herself in front of me. She never met my gaze. I threw her a towel and walked back in the house. She knelt, crying.. drying herself off. I had a huge hard-on and had to go beat off. She slept in the shed again that night.

The next day she sorted out the garage in a new bikini. The day after that she changed the pool filter and scrubbed the hot tub naked. Each night she got hosed off on the patio and sent to bed in the shed. Pretty soon a week had passed, and most of my deferred house maintenance was close to being done. The shutters were power washed. The storm screens were scrubbed clean. The basement storm door got a new coat of paint. The pool got drained and scrubbed in a major three day project. She cleaned the patio tile flag stone grouting with a tooth brush.

After that, I let her in the house with me. When I let her in for the first time, she shrieked in glee and tried to hug me. I stepped back from her, even though I was beginning to get pretty desperate myself for that hug. She was instantly abashed and lowered her eyes.

“Thank you, Master. All I want is to be near you. All day, all the time. You’re like a drug to me... god it’s so weird. I hate you, but all I want is to be near you. God, I’m pathetic.”

I had her do chores for days. I trained her to make basic meals. She was a terrible cook, but she got better with time. The things she didn’t know were pretty amazing. How does anyone grow up not knowing how to clean a toilet or make a grilled cheese sandwich?

Her nails were clipped close now, no polish on them. There were rough patches on her hands from hard work. Her skin was becoming tanned. She kept her hair up, and the dark roots were growing back out. The makeup was gone, and she looked better than ever to me. Dangerous... she was dangerous. I decided to take things to the next level.

“Samantha.” I said down the hallway from my den, into the kitchen where I had her polishing each piece of my elderly Aunts old silver service, which I’d never even used.

She came into the den quietly. “Sir?”

“We’re going out shopping. Going to the mall.”

She looked at me, searching my face for something. “Oh. Yes, sir.”

“Get changed into a skirt and blouse and meet me in the hall in five minutes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We drove to the mall in the deafening quiet of the car. It was the first time I’d had her out of the house in weeks.

We arrived and parked near the Macy’s. As we entered, I steered her over to the mall beauty shop and told her to get her hair trimmed and a facial and nails and pedicure.

Her smile could have powered an evening’s lighting at a ballpark. “Oh! Yes, of course Mr. Tawse! Hair, facial, nails, toes, everything.”

“Yep. French manicure, hair down, go for it.”

She nearly ran into the shop. A month earlier she’d have turned her nose up at getting her hair done at a mall beautician. I drove home, had a coke and a nap, and drove back a couple of hours later.

I found her sitting on a bench outside the beautician, looking around for me.. she seemed shaky. When she saw me, she leapt to her feet and hugged me tightly. She was ravingly gorgeous. I pushed her away. She looked hurt.

I looked her up and down. “Next stop, underwear.”

“Underwear, Sir?”

“Yep.”

She swallowed and smiled at me. “Uh, yes Sir.”

I led her to a shop I’d picked this mall for. It was called “Trashy Nothings”. She hesitated on the entry to the store. I looked at her. I raised an eyebrow. She lowered her head and entered the shop.

A shop girl looked up from her college trigonometry textbook. “May I help you, Miss?” Sam looked at me, and I looked at the girl. The girl corrected herself, looking at me. “Um, can I help you?”

“Yep. Sam, introduce yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Samantha.” They shook hands.

“Hi, I’m Krissey, Sam.”

I smiled at Krissey. “She’s here for a new look. Out with business and casual, in with a whole new look.”

Sam’s head whipped around to me like it was piston activated. “Here?” She said, looking around at the short skirts, belly shirts, and lingerie. Half a beat later she said. “Here, Mr. Tawse?”

“Yep.” I went over to the husband’s lounge and sat down. The two women looked at each other. Krissey smiled at Sam and said. “Well, lets show your boyfriend what we’ve got.”

They went into a huddle over the table of panties first. Out came the tape measure. Sam was a ‘small’ around the hips. Maybe a ladies petite size three in dresses, except of course for those fabulous breasts. They gathered the possibilities and headed into the changing rooms. One by one she tried them on... with each I leaned over the door and looked in.

“Smaller” I said to the white cotton panties.

“Thong or boy shorts” I said to the silk ones.

“Smaller, trashier” I said to another pair.

Soon, I looked in, and Sam was covering her face, beet red with embarrassment. She was wearing a tiny little thong with a butterfly on the front. Where the butterfly spread her wings, the crotch was open. “Perfect” I said.

“Fabulous” I said to the tiny boy shorts with a string of pearls up the crotch. “Just right” I said about the transparent mesh g-string.

They had they idea.

Soon everything Krissey was putting Sam into was a trashy, stripper or whore style bra, or panties. The skirts were micro-mini skirts. The shorts rode too high in the crotch to be decent. The belly shirts were too tight.

Spandex.

Crotchless.

Tiny.

Indecent.

Whorish.

Standing in front of me, Sam was dressed in a tiny white shirt, somewhat see through. Under it was a lace black shelf bra that pushed her exposed nipples forward. Her skirt was a tiny plaid school girl look with matching over-sized safety-pins. Under the skirt was a vanishingly tiny black lace crotchless panty that said ‘Party Inside’ in pink lettering on the front. Her shoes were four inch heeled Mary-Janes over frilly ankle socks.

“She’ll take all of it.” I said, looking at the pile of slut clothes. “She’ll take everything you have in her size in those pearl things and in the butterfly things. She’ll take all those peek-a-boo bras you have... She’ll take it all.” They both turned and looked at me.

“Go pay for it Sam. Spend freely, it’s your money. Oh yes, you’ll be wearing that tonight.” I walked out of the shop and sat down on a bench. Half an hour later, she tottered out in her slut clothes and on top of her ridiculous heels.

We took the long way out of the mall, making sure that everyone got a damned good look at her. Nearing the exit, we stopped in at a photo shop and I had a couple of quick snapshots made of her. Sam cried in embarrassment and humiliation.

We had dinner at a small Sushi place where she was really inappropriately dressed. She stammered and was embarrassed throughout the entire meal. I made her go up and pay the bill in person. The manager, a woman, stared at her with ill concealed hostility. Sam looked like she wanted to crawl under the floor.

Later, I drove her to a club called the ‘Crazy Horse’. The music could be heard from the street, and there was a line to get in. I tipped the bouncer a $50 from Sam’s tiny beaded pink purse and we went in. The crowd was wall to wall and rowdy with college kids. A huge banner hung from the back wall. It read “Miss Cabo San Lucas Wet T-Shirt and Strip-a-Thon 2006″. I parked Sam in the crowd where she was already the focus of attention for many young guys. I made my way to the bar and got us a couple of drinks. I spent some time yelling over the music to the bartender, but he was able to hear me.

Most of fifteen minutes later, I made my way back to Sam and handed her the beer. She looked a little scared and gulped at it gladly. I yelled over the music. “You look hot.”

“Thank you, Master!” She yelled back.

“No, I mean you look turned on.” I shouted.

She grimaced at me. Here she was, a New York lawyer from Wall Street, used to a refined and powerful crowd of genteel admirers, and a lesbian to boot, and I was telling her she looked turned on. It was patently absurd. “Sure, Sir.”

I looked her in the eyes. “No Sam. I know you. You are turned on. You are turned on.” She smiled at me and tried to ignore the situation. We turned to watch the crowd.

Pretty soon the first couple of girls made it up onto the bar and started dancing ... the crowd went wild. The MC poured water on them, and their cute college ages breasts hove emerged from hiding.

Sam grabbed my hand. She leaned against me.

Within a few minutes, the first set of girls were bumping and grinding, taking their clothes off to the whoops of appreciation of the crowd. Sam hugged me from behind. I could feel her press herself up against me.

When the first set of girls finished, a second set got on stage. The boys yelled out their enthusiasm, and the MC brought out the water pitcher again. Sam was pressed up against me tightly and I could feel her pelvis rock slightly.

I turned to look at her. Her face was flushed and she was blinking rapidly. “Jesus, look at you Sam. You’re hot as hell. Horny.”

She looked away for a second and then turned back, leaning into my ear. “Sir... please take me home.” She took a deep breath. “I think ... I think I want you, please.”

I leaned over and yelled back to her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re gay! Besides,” I turned and looked at the stage, where the second set of girls, now slightly drunk... were beginning to strip each other in time to the music.

“Besides...” I smiled at her. “You’re up next!”